In Chains
by UndergroundValentine
Summary: Brad drags Adam to a once a year freak show circus, where the singer just happens to see a blond haired, brown eyed elven prince locked in a cage. Bradam/Adommy. Abuse. Alcohol use. Language.


This is Brad's idea.

He reminds himself of this as he stares at every cage and every tent. This is Brad's idea of a _good_ time. Fuck no it's not. Well, sure, some of the things he sees here are pretty damn cool, but otherwise? No. He sees something that no one else bothers to see because they're all laughing. They're all laughing at the quote-un-quote _freaks_. That's what this is. A freak show. A circus. Set up for three nights once a year in the middle of nowhere. People hear about it, but only the truly sadistic ones come out.

People like Brad, who think this is funny.

Not that he has anything against Brad. The guy is sexy as hell, cute and charming with a bright eyed smile. But Brad finds humor in things that he doesn't— like "freak" shows. Freak shows, spiders, spinach… Not sure why that last one makes the list, but he doesn't find humor in it. In fact, he's walking beside Brad with a grimace on his face and sympathy in his eyes. He doesn't want to be here. And all the while, as he stares at pained faces behind cages, he's thinking to himself '_This is Brad's idea, this is Brad's idea, this is Brad's idea…_'

His feet crunch on gravel and straw; he's thanking the higher powers that he remembered to wear boots instead of regular shoes or sandals. At least, this way, he doesn't have to worry about anything getting lodged or stuck or, God forbid (though he's not religious by any means), something were to poke _through_ and nick him. A wind ghosts over the back of his neck and he trembles slightly, his hands shoved as far as they can go into the pockets of his wool jacket. It's cold for September.

He looks over at Brad with blue eyes darkened by his disgust for being here. But Brad's not paying him any attention. The smaller boy has a smile on his face and he keeps grabbing his arm and pulling him in different directions. Other people see his discomfort. They might as well laugh at him too, for being so shook up at all of this. It's not his fault that he actually has a heart. These so-called "freaks" didn't ask to be this way, they didn't ask to be here. And with everyone that he looks at, his heart hurt worse and worse.

It's the usual, you know? Bearded Lady, Alligator Man, Rubber Boy… But those are at the front of the circus. The farther back he goes, the more repulsed he becomes. The childhood favorites suddenly transform into the types of people and creatures that make even the craziest of the visitors gasp. There's a girl with bat wings and talons, her eyes smoldering like fire; there's a boy that looks like half-dog-half-lizard, and every time someone gets within ten feet of his cage he lets out a head-splitting shriek before huffing and curling into a back corner of the cage. Suddenly, the things that could be pulled off with simple Hollywood makeup… It's not so fake anymore. It's terrifying.

The tents are pitched high with red and gold colors, flags waving. There are banners displaying each creature's title. Of course there are no names. These people don't give a flying fuck about these poor souls' feelings, let alone their names. It makes his stomach curl into a knot and he knows that the farther they go, the more he's going to want to throw up. Maybe he should force himself so that they can leave. It's seriously tempting.

"Oh, Adam, look at this!" Brad squeals, taking his arm again and pulling him towards a cage with a young woman sitting on a stool. She's plucking a guitar with dirty, mangled claws. Her skin is an ashy sort of color, her eyes are closed. She plays beautifully. Her hair is a mess of dreadlocks pulled into a pony tail with a piece of tattered ribbon. Adam frowns slightly. She's gorgeous but all he wants to do is let her out. She doesn't belong in a cage. None of these people do…

"Hmm, lame." Brad says, before turning away. Adam lingers for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip as she opens her eyes slowly. He gasps a little, but otherwise doesn't move. Her eyes are coal black, through and through. No light shining in, no sign of pupils. But even in the darkness, just the way her face moves, he sees sadness, and she keeps playing. He takes a step back, feeling his chest caving in a little. It's just not fair.

"Brad, can we just go?" He asks, really not wanting to be here anymore. He's never been one for circuses like this. People don't deserve to be caged, unless they're, like, mass murders. But what crimes have these people committed?

"There's one more thing I wanna see, baby." Brad says with a smile, even as he stares at Adam's pained face. '_Why am I dating him?_' He asks himself, before sighing and following the younger male towards the very back of the park-like area. There's fewer people back here, less lights. Those who are down here are dressed in dark clothes. Some wear capes. Some wear fairy costumes. It's like a big party to them. But the shorter, brown eyed boy pulls him along to one final cage. There's a thin, tall man with choppy brown hair and dark, almond brown eyes. His skin is creamy, his eyelids dusted with silvery shadow and liner. He's wearing a pair of black leather pants and a white muslin shirt. Over which is a sleeveless, grey leather trench that slides in the straw and gravel. Boots up to the knees with straps and buckles. Adam can see the strap of a guitar over his shoulder. The man is standing off to the right of the center of the cage, which is locked onto a set of four steel wheels— a wagon of sorts. There is excitement burning in his eyes.

"Ladies and gents, have I got a magnificent story for you—" the man begins as Adam turns towards Brad.

"What is this?" He asks, trying to peer into the cage. There are curtains on the insides, strapped to three of the four sides. It's dark, but he can see the shape of a thin person with golden blond hair. The light catches it from the front, barely illuminating it.

"Everyone calls him the "Storyteller", cause no one knows his real name." Brad says, the smile pulling at his lips. There's a crowd of maybe twenty people, all around the cage and the man. But Brad pulls Adam a little closer, so that they're perhaps ten feet away from the spectacle before them.

"I took a journey sometime last month through some castle ruins in Ireland. Beautiful place, Ireland is. Lush, green lands rolling with farms and life. I was looking for inspiration. Something that would give me a tale to tell when I came back home. I toured through the streets before a friend of mine told me about a place called Leap Castle.

"A little history on Leap Castle, it's four miles off the town of Roscrea in Ireland, built in the fifteenth century by the O'Bannon family. Quite the remarkable place, this castle. Haunted ruins; mounds of bones of prisoners long since rotted away, a deathly spirit called an "elemental"… There is part of the castle called the "Bloody Chapel" and a one-eyed man murdered his brother at the altar some odd four hundred years ago. There's a stench and feeling of death and terror…" The Storyteller trails off with eyes gleaming in mischief. Adam stares, intrigued by the words but chilled by their content. He doesn't really want to be here, but this man is drawing him in with his words. And his eye keeps catching that golden blond hair.

"But my story is not a ghost story, ladies and gents. No, I was taking a quick look through the woods tucked behind this haunted castle, and up in a tree I saw a shape. An innocent shape, a small shape. A gangly figure with elegant structure and blond hair. He was asleep, like an angel on a cloud. It took some brute strength and cunning, but I managed to bring him down. He hadn't budged from his slumber.

"Face more beautiful than you can imagine. Lips like Cupid's bow, skin smooth like white chocolate. He was dressed in tattered leather pants and a dark green shirt. Gorgeous creature. Easily passed as a human being— but for one thing," the Storyteller says with a smile. He reaches over and pulls on a rope which, in turn, pulls the three screens down from their hooks. The sudden exposure to moonlight and nearby lights makes the body twitch. Adam blinks once, staring as the shape shifts, the blond head lifting, before the body pulls itself into a kneeling position.

The Storyteller wasn't lying. He is beautiful. Strong facial features, his hair is the color of honey on top and chocolate on one side. His lips are curved, plump, a dark cherry red. They're painted for effect. He's wearing a white shirt, draped over his small shoulders, and it hangs around his thighs. Dark blue tights cover his legs, and he's barefoot. Adam's heart twists again. Why is someone so beautiful caged like an animal? But that's when he sees it. Amidst the piercings, he sees the points in the cartilage, the fact that the tips of the ears curve up. His ears are at least six to eight inches tall, to real to be faked.

"I assure you, they're completely real." The Storyteller says, yanking on a chain that's looped near the rope. Adam watches as the chain tightens, a ring connected to a piercing in the cartilage of the blond's right ear. And the pained yelp that is torn from his throat makes Adam gasp in horror. It's a beautiful voice but voiced for the wrong reasons. His hands curl at his sides, he has to keep himself from reaching out and trying to save that blond.

"He's an elven prince, lost and wandering. He's traveled from India to Ireland, unsure of where to go or who to confide in for food and shelter. He sleeps under the moonlight, preferably in trees or in gardens, and he seems to have a fondness for music." Murmurs among the crowd and they all swarm closer to the cage to see the prince at a better light. Adam follows them, his heart beating in his chest. The prince keeps his head down, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. There's a chain connected to one of the bars of the cage, a shackle hooked around his ankle. Has he tried escaping? The idea doesn't surprise the blue-eyed male.

"He doesn't say much, he's rather shy. But if you give him a guitar, he creates music like no other." The Storyteller says, just above a whisper. Brad stands beside Adam with a look of awe on his face. But Adam's not really focused on his boyfriend right now. He's staring with wide, pained eyes at the blond prince. His head lifts, as if he knows he's being watched, and Adam's eyes widen as he stares into pools of rich, chocolaty brown. It's the most beautiful shade of brown. They keep their eye contact for a long moment, those eyes begging to be free. The look that says what words cannot fathom.

The crowd shifts and gathers around the Storyteller, begging for more answers about this beautiful prince. Brad joins them, but Adam does not. He stays by the cage, even daring to move a little closer. The blond doesn't move, but he drops his head again. Adam reaches up, gripping the iron bars in his hands, resting his head against one of them. Of all the people to be locked up, why this beautiful soul? Maybe he's soft at heart. Maybe he just likes to see the good in everyone, no matter what they look like.

He stands in silence by the cage, longing deep within his chest. He wants to reach out and comfort this boy. But he can't, because there's fucking iron bars between them. He glances over at the Storyteller, who is busy with the crowd and their questions. So, he looks back towards the elven prince. He licks his lips, trying to calm his thrashing heart as he whispers. "Hey…"

The blond lifts his head a little bit, but drops it again. It's an acknowledgement. Adam glances over at the crowd again. He still hasn't been noticed, thank fuck. He looks back to the prince, who's fiddling with his fingers. They're long, elegant and toned. By the looks of it, Adam can only assume that if he were given the chance to play, he'd play beautifully. He sighs softly, blinking once before staring at the slumped shape of the boy in front of him.

"I know," he begins to say, just above a whisper. "I know you want to get out of here. It's cruel, the way they have you locked up." He doesn't even know what he's saying, he's just saying it because it sounds like the right thing _to_ say. He inhales slowly, wishing that the blond would look up at him again. But he doesn't. He stares at his fingers as he slowly tears strands of straw apart.

"What's your name?" Adam asks after a moment, the edge of comfort on his tongue. The blond lifts his head slowly, peering at Adam through a veil of golden hair. Adam's heart pounds a little harder. Those eyes… They're doing things to him. They're making him want to hold the blond and at the same time they're making him want to beat the shit out of the Storyteller for locking him up in this cage. He grips the iron bars a little bit tighter, moistening his lips again.

"Please? What's your name?" He asks again. He needs to know before Brad drags him away. He needs to know otherwise he's not sure he'll ever find out. Sure, he can come back for the next two nights, but really… What if he's not here after tonight? What if this is the only chance he has? He has to learn this boy's name…

The blond lifts his head again as Adam whispers another "please". Those brown eyes freeze his soul in his chest before warming it up again. There's beauty in such a way that makes him melt. The Cupid's bow of a mouth opens slowly, moving in a gentle hush that pushes itself along the wind. Adam watches the mouth form a name, before closing, and he hears it on the breeze, ghosting around his ears as if it were nothing more than a phantom sigh.

_Thomas_.

His name is Thomas.

"Thomas." Adam says back to the wind, and the boy nods once, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It's barely there, but it's a beautiful smile that makes Adam smile back in return. He stares at the blond for a long while, the smile on his lips. He hears the chatter and turns his head again. The crowd is dispersing, which means he's running out of time with Thomas. He looks back at the elven prince.

"I'll come back. I'll get you out, I promise." He tells him as he drops his hands off of the bars of the cage. There's hope in Thomas' eyes. The blond nods once, the small curve of the lip showing a delicate smile. One that makes Adam's heart ache. He needs to keep his promise. Thomas is counting on him. Brad tugs on Adam's arm; he wants to go home. The Jewish male nods once, staring at Thomas as he turns away. Even as he walks, he can feel the elf's eyes on his back, watching him the entire time until he's out of sight.

* * *

He couldn't sleep last night. Not a wink. He was tossing and turning, trying to figure out how he's going to get Thomas out of his cage. His prison. He hates seeing the blond like that. Like he's some kind of animal. He doesn't deserve to be there. None of them do, to be honest. But he can't save them all. Hell, he's starting to wonder if he can save Thomas. But then he remembers that he promised. And he knows that he has to, no matter what may or may not happen.

It's exactly because of that reason that he finds himself back at the show tonight, at the front gates with the sneering clowns and gypsies, the synthetic electro-dance music pulsing through hidden speakers like whispers and drum beats. He draws his coat tighter to himself, shuffling along down the path. The moon's gleaming high above him, like an angry reminder that if he doesn't free Thomas tonight, he only has one more opportunity after this. And then he may never see the elf again. Never.

A chills runs down his spine as he brushes past people dressed in ragged skinny jeans, fish net, boots, makeup, capes, masks, leather— all these people running around to look at all the freaks. But who are the real freaks here? The people running freely, cackling like mad men or the people in the cages who just want to be left alone? It's a topsy-turvy world, this circus, this freak show. But as Adam heads towards the back of the park, he wonders if he himself is a freak for wanting so desperately to free someone from a cage? No. He's not. He's keeping to his word and he's showing that he actually has a heart and he's willing to use it to save another.

He tips his fedora a little lower over his face. If the Storyteller is here, he doesn't want to be recognized. That could cause a load of problems that he doesn't need. He inhales slowly as he walks down and around a small curve. He sees the woman with the dreadlocks and closed eyes. She's still playing her guitar with mangled claws. He gnaws on his bottom lip before turning away from her and walking towards Thomas' cage. The curtains are already dropped, the Storyteller is already deep into his tale. Thomas' head is dipped down, but he's in a kneeling position, just like he was last night.

Adam quietly slips behind the crowd, which has grown since last night, and he listens to repeated words. He doesn't pay attention this time, unlike last night, where the words had put him into a state of rapture that was almost hypnotic. Instead, he stares at Thomas, who looks so frail in the cage that it makes his heart ache. '_Brad's going to freak if he finds out you came back without him._' He tells himself, but he shakes his head of the thought, going back to focusing on how he's going to get Thomas out.

He looks over at the Storyteller again, trying to see if maybe there's some way— yes! There! Hanging off of a chain attached to his pocket. A single key. He's not sure how he's going to be able to get it though. He gnaws on his bottle lip, before glancing back at Thomas. The blond's head is raised, his brown eyes staring at him through the veil of hair. His heart lurches in his chest, and he has to remind himself to breathe. Damn this elf and his ways of playing with his heart.

He watches, his heart cracking as the Storyteller yanks on the chain, pulling on Thomas' ear. It's the same pained yelp, but tonight it's louder. His hands curl in the pockets of his coat, and he bites on his tongue. He can't attack the Storyteller. He can't move. He has to stay still if this is to work. He's barely aware of the story ending before the crowd starts moving. Some wander off to shops or other cages, but most go to the Storyteller with questions. Adam follows a man towards a shop before veering off, walking towards the back of the cage. Thomas turns his head towards him, before shifting in the cage. He lays down on his side, facing away from the front and towards Adam. The Jewish, twenty-eight-year-old wraps his hands around the bars again, leaning close.

"How do I get the key from him?" He asks, his voice gentle. Thomas' eyes flash for a moment before he shifts closer towards the iron bars, but not so that he's touching them. His breathing is short as he gets closer, and Adam frowns, wondering why he seems to be in pain.

"The key he has… is fake…" Thomas' voice is pain laced and hoarse, but there's truth to it. Maybe he's tried using that one before? But what about the pain in his tone? He seemed fine in the middle of the cage though, so why— the cage. The iron? It has to be.

"Where's the real one?" Adam nearly hisses, urgency in his tone. He needs to get Thomas out of here, before it's too late. Thomas' eyes travel to the top corner of the cage, towards Adam's right. Hanging from a gold hook, almost out of sight, is a rusty iron key. If the iron hurts Thomas, then he isn't able to take it. And in this knowledge, the Storyteller must have put it there on purpose, to taunt him. As if to say "here's your freedom, try to take it". Adam swallows the burning lump in his throat, and he knows he has to try to contain his anger. This isn't right…

"He checks… every hour… to make sure it's there… When he checks the key, he checks my locks… Makes sure I'm not getting out…" Thomas takes a sharp, short breath in, and the wheezing sound forces Adam's stomach into a twisted knot. It hurts to see this boy like this. It's not fair… It's torture!

"You'll have to wait… Until he's… asleep…" Thomas mutters. Adam inhales slowly, one hand slipping off of the iron bars. He rubs his palm onto his coat, wondering if that will make any difference… When his fingers touch Thomas' cheek, the boy doesn't show any sign of discomfort. Holding the iron obviously didn't rub off on him, and he palms the elf's cheek gently. Thomas turns into the touch, sighing quietly. His skin is soft, just like Adam imagined it would be; but it's cold. His skin is slightly damp. He's clammy from being so close to the iron.

"I'm going to get you out of here. Tonight. I promise." Adam says, before pulling away from the elf. He watches as the prince curls into a ball in the center of the cage. He pulls his jacket around himself a little tighter, tipping the hat over his face before walking nonchalantly down the path and passed the Storyteller. The man doesn't even give him a glance; he's too preoccupied with the group of fans throwing questions like roses to an actor. He sighs. He's not sure how long he's going to have to wait, but he's willing to wait as long as possible.

* * *

Hours pass. Hours that feel like eternity, but he keeps himself moving and walking around. He even goes so far as to pay company to the lady with the dreadlocks and the guitar, just to keep himself awake. She has a story to tell, she does. With her guitar and her soul, she doesn't always need words to express the pain she feels, being locked up and laughed at. Adam had been on the verge of tears when he left her. All she wants is to get out, find some way to attain normal eyes and making a living for herself. She was born with a visual defect. Her vision is perfect, her eyes are not.

He even pays a visit to one of the shops, looking for something quick to eat and give him some energy. But either everything is expensive or it's something he's not willing to try, and he leaves the tent with money still in the wallet and the stomach still rather empty. But food is the farthest thing from his mind right now. He's wondering when the hell the Storyteller's going to leave. And it's not until he hears laughter that sounds awfully familiar that he takes his route back towards the cage.

He keeps his hands in his pockets again, his head down as he watches with keen interest as the Storyteller wraps his arms around the shoulders of a few _very_ drunk individuals. They stumble along down the path before the Storyteller turns his head towards Thomas' cage. He yells something about not escaping before laughing heartily with his friends and disappearing around a corner. Isn't there a sort of pub in one of the tents? He wouldn't be surprised. But now is his opportunity.

He makes sure that he can't hear the Storyteller's laughter, and he turns, booking it across the path and towards Thomas' cage. His boots slam into the gravel, the air kissing his face, and his fedora is barely hanging onto the threads of his hair. But the cage comes into clearer view at last. The elf is curled up into a ball as Adam swings around to the back, and pulling himself onto one of the back wheels. A light breeze makes his coat flare and he grabs the key from the hook. It feels heavy in his grasp, and Thomas is sitting up straight, breathing hard.

"Bring your ankle closer to me." Adam says, and the elf nods, readjusting so his ankle is within reach. Adam holds the elf's ankle tenderly in his grasp, before slipping the key into the lock and turning. The shackle falls open, and Thomas kicks it aside, hissing at it. Adam doesn't blame him. "How can I get you out?" He asks, gripping the iron bars.

"The underside of the wagon. There's a latch to a door. Be careful, it's heavy." Adam nods once, climbing down from the wheel and slipping under the wagon. He's gripping the key tightly, shaking a little in the fingers. He shoves the key into the lock, turning and bracing himself. He slides the lock open, grunting as the door swings down into his arms. The elf's right, it's heavy. Really, really fucking heavy. He inhales sharply, holding the breath as he sets the door gently into the straw and gravel. First the prince's legs slip out, then the rest of him. Adam motions for him to crawl towards the back side of the cage. The elf nods, and Adam follows.

They're going to follow the backs of the tents, silent as can be. Adam takes the blond's hand in his, pulling him along. He's forgetful of the prince's bare feet until Thomas is running and hissing every few seconds. Adam skids to a stop, staring down at the reddening skin. He crouches down, motioning in silence for Thomas to jump onto his back. The blond looks back towards the cage, before nodding. He grips Adam's shoulders and pulls himself on, wrapping his legs around Adam's waist. The Jewish male grips the elf's thighs, taking off in a hobbled jog again. It's harder to run this way, but it keeps him safe until they can get to the car.

There's virtually no one left, other than the caged souls and their masters. But everyone's gone down towards the pub in the tent near the back. Perhaps they can actually make it out. Adam's breathing a little harder from running, but it's not because Thomas is heavy. The blond is actually fairly light. He tightens his grip on the boy's thighs, inhaling slowly as he evens his pace. They're only halfway out of the park, but it's better than nothing at all, right?

But it's fate, isn't it? It's meant to happen? The shuffling and kicking of rocks and Adam's boots startles the half-dog-half-lizard boy, and he turns in his cage, seeing them. They aren't remotely close to being within the ten foot mark of the cage, but it's the fact that they're being noisy— that they're _escaping_— that startles him. And he lets out a shriek that forces Thomas to cup his hands over his ears and bury his face into the back of Adam's neck. That's what Adam wants to do, but he can't. He grits his teeth and keeps pushing forward.

"Come on, we're almost there…" He says softly, but he's not sure if Thomas is even listening. They're almost to the gates, he can see them for fucks sakes! He can see the flags and banners and he can hear the music. And he can still hear the boy shrieking, and now there's shouting due to the racket. He pushes himself a little farther. He has to. He has to get Thomas out of here. He has to make it to the car and drive off, and then they'll never find them.

There's a shout, followed by a gun shot, and then blinding pain in his thigh. Adam screams, stumbling and falling forward, letting go of Thomas' thighs to cover his face as he hits and skids in the gravel. Searing hot agony is spreading like fire through his skin and Thomas crawls off of him, pulling on his jacket and trying to get him to the gate. The blond is whimpering as Adam tries to stand, but he can't even get to his knees, his thigh is burning. He chokes, falling again. His hands slip through gravel, and he feels the skin being torn open. Great, more pain. More agony.

"You!" He hears the Storyteller shouting. "Get back to your cage!" Adam coughs, looking up at Thomas, who's staring fearfully at the Storyteller. He's shaking like a leaf as he looks back down at Adam.

"Go. Run away." Adam whispers to him. Thomas frowns, whimpering.

"Boy! Get back. To your cage." He breaks his words up, emphasizing them. Adam can see the fear, the decision to be made. Adam swallows the lump in his throat, and he reaches up, pushing on Thomas' leg.

"_Run!_" He shouts. Thomas' brown eyes are gleaming with tears, some even slipping and falling down his pale face. He whimpers again; everything is shown in those eyes. He doesn't want to leave without Adam. But he can't stay. He has to go. "Run…" Adam whispers, and Thomas turns.

"_Boy!_" The Storyteller shouts, but Thomas is too fast and too far gone. He vanishes in the darkness, his sobs echoing off of the walls of the gate and in the forest beyond the black. Adam drops his head, sighing. He got Thomas out. He kept his promise. He freed him. True, at the cost of his own freedom, and perhaps his life, but he got him away from all of this. _He saved a fucking prince_. Not many people get to do that in their lifetime. But he did.

"You… filthy… treacherous…" The Storyteller is spewing words that he doesn't hear, and he's lifted off the ground by his black hair. He howls, blindly reaching up and clawing at the man's hand and arm. His leg is numb from pain and blood loss, and he's dragged back through the circus. People and creatures are staring as the trail of his blood marks where he fell and where he goes, and no one bothers to help. Of course they don't. Those who do want to help are locked up. Like the young woman with the dreadlocks. She stares with coal black eyes, screaming obscenities that fall on the Storyteller's deaf ears.

He's shoved up and into the cage that Thomas had been in not five minutes before. The cage is locked, but he's not shackled. There's no point. He doesn't have the strength to try and leave. The Storyteller hisses things along the lines of he's going to pay for freeing the blond bitch. But he's not listening at this point. His heart and his head are pounding and the only thing he can think of is that he freed Thomas…

* * *

He feels ashamed. How could he have let his savior down? He left that beautiful man behind… True, he'd told him to go… But… If he hadn't been so weak, he could have helped him. They could have both gotten out. They could have both been free. Instead, it's a trade off. His freedom for the blue-eyed man's imprisonment.

He stumbles, falling beside the base of a large tree, and he sighs. The moon washes down through the branches, and he leans his head against the bark. His blond hair lays flat over his face, and he feels tears rolling down his cheeks. He hasn't cried in years, it seems. He'd cried for months when the Storyteller first found him, but then he didn't… He'd been locked up for only the universe knew how long, and now he's finally out… And he's crying again. He's crying because his heart is breaking.

For the first time, someone showed care to him. And he let them down.

Thomas turns, facing the tree and reaching up, placing his palms on the bark. He curls his fingers, digging his nails into the wood and dragging them down the surface. Being a wood elf, he feels the tree's pain as he rips open the skin, feeling the blood-sap sticking to his nails. He clenches his jaw, breathing hard before wailing in the darkness, tears flowing like rivers as sap pools into his hands. He wishes it were his own blood.

He left his blue-eyed angel to suffer…

And he never learned his name.

* * *

"Dumb bitch!" The plates crack across the floor of the tent. He learned quickly that this is where the circus goes when they're not touring. Everyone gathers here in this abandoned airplane hangar, and they set up tents and build fires into emptied oil barrels to keep warm. And groups of ten will go out for food every week or so. He doesn't go, he stays chained at the ankle to a hook in the wall, just outside of the tent. No blanket, no pillow. He freezes a lot at night.

But tonight his thoughts are far from food and heat and comfort. He's curled into a ball against the hangar's wall, his hands covering most of his head as the Storyteller screams at him. He's not sure what he did this time, but it's not like that matters. Sometimes the Storyteller will look at him and growl before beating him. He pays most every night for letting Thomas go. He can still feel the tug of scars stretching across his back from the first few weeks after that night…

He whimpers as the Storyteller shuffles, digging through piles of stuff before pulling out the whip again. He clenches his eyes shut, picturing Thomas' face in his mind. It's the image of the elf he saved that gets him through this. He romanticizes where Thomas is at… How is he doing? Is he eating well? Does he have someone to care for him? Is he safe— he screams as the tip of the leather slices through his shirt and into his back like the hundreds of other times before it. He whines, but his body relaxes. He's learned not to tense up as much when this happens, otherwise it's just worse.

Again and again the whip hits his skin, slicing new cuts and reopening those that haven't quite healed. He sobs on the concrete floor, guarding his head. The Storyteller is angry tonight, and if he's not mistaken, the man is also a little on the drunk end of life. Unfortunately, he's not drunk off life. More like vodka. That seems to be his favorite drink, ever since Thomas vanished into the woods.

He wonders— did he free the Storyteller's golden tale? Did he let the Teller's muse vanish off into the midnight darkness? It would only make sense…

* * *

It's not until late March that they're on the move again.

They start touring through the United States. The cities he knows all too well, but the people are all different. It's because they don't see him the way they once did. They don't see him as being human. His title is "The Fool". He's the Storyteller's fool, found scarred and beaten in an old church with a red, tattered curtain curled around his shoulders and head like a cape. And when he's locked in his cage, being marveled at by those he used to be one of, that's what he wears. A pair of worn, brown leather pants cut off at the calves and the red cape. The tips of scars are visible on the tops of his shoulders and his sides.

The story is simple. He's a dumb oaf who believes he's a traveling singer, preaching tales. Fortunately for the Teller, he can actually sing. So everyone's convinced. But he's not dumb. He doesn't travel willingly. He can sing, yes. But that's the only truth. The scars and beatings are marked on him by the Teller, but does he say that? Of course not. He doesn't want to frighten the audiences.

When the guitar begins to play, he sighs, reaching forward and gripping the iron bars of the cage. He used to grip the bars, but on the outside. He leans into them, staring out at the dark sky as the cape billows around him from the wind, and he sings. He sings about burning through flesh and bone and leaving behind an ancient soul. These are the Storyteller's lyrics. They're beautiful, he has to admit. He likes singing them, because they reflect his misery and the things he hopes for.

He'll sing anywhere between two and four songs per crowd. Sometimes he'll sing the sadder songs, sometimes he'll sing the ones with hope. Sometimes he won't sing at all because the Teller will be too busy drinking and over-emphasizing a bullshit tale. Tonight, for instance, he's on his third song and the Teller's a little too drunk to seem real, but it's all fun for everyone. He's singing about dying to live… Or maybe he's living to die? He's not sure. But the words are beautiful and he closes his eyes, losing himself in the words that he almost wishes he, himself, wrote.

When he's done, the people drops coins into the Storyteller's hat. Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'll get food. But not tonight. He didn't earn enough for the Teller, already knows by the look on his face.

* * *

He loses count of the number of cities they've traveled to. But they're somewhere near where he used to live. He smells the familiar smog. He hears the familiar city. It tugs on his heartstrings because he's so close to home and he's been away for far too long. A year; that's what the Teller says. They haven't been to California in a year. It makes him want to cry, to be honest, to know he's been away for this long. What about his family? His friends? Brad? Have they forgotten him? Are they looking for him?

He doesn't really think about them. Each night, his thoughts are on Thomas. Those beautiful brown eyes, that curved mouth. He dreams that he runs his fingers through the blond's hair, pulling on it, tasting those lips. He dreams pretty dreams because his life has turned to hell. But he saved Thomas, did he not? Isn't that why he's here? Because he set the elf free?

He misses Thomas, Adam does. He misses those eyes, that petite frame. He barely knew the prince, but over this past year, he's grown to love what he knows he will probably never see again. True, the heartache for his lost lover practically tears him apart at times, but he knows that Thomas is in a safer place now. He's in a better place, far from here. He would have felt guilty for eternity if he let Thomas suffer in this freak show that he's been forced to call him. He just… He can't help but to wonder, since that seems to be the only thing he can do without being beaten…

Has Thomas forgotten him, like he's sure everyone else has? Has his elven prince written him off with his newfound freedom? He dreams that the blond hasn't. When he sleeps, he sees that tuft of blond in the next crowd, those brown eyes staring at him with gratitude and love. Those hands that he felt for all of five minutes touching him again, those lips that he's never had the opportunity of knowing gracing his in a sweet kiss. And it's in that kiss that he's freed of the cage and he runs away.

But when he opens his eyes, he remembers that it's probably never going to happen.

Tonight is the third and final night in California. They're moving upward into Oregon after this. It's September again. It's cold again. He's lying on his side, peering out in the darkness of midnight across the gravel and straw paths. He can see the young woman, who prefers to be called Crystal, playing her guitar. She hasn't changed much. The softness in her eyes makes them shine. Perhaps she'll be considered too normal, and they'll let her go. She could have a career in singing. She has a beautiful voice.

He sighs heavily, closing his eyes and wishing with all his might. Maybe tonight… Maybe tonight, the one thing he's been dreaming for will come true. But there's always that nagging doubt in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he'll suffer for another year before he returns to California. But who's to say that Thomas is still here? Maybe he's gone back to Ireland or wherever Teller found him. Who's to say he stuck around, waiting? He probably didn't.

Probably. Who's to say for sure?

He hears the guitar from Teller's fingers, but he doesn't stir. He won't sing tonight. He doesn't have the will to sing tonight. Teller plays a little louder, and Adam rolls onto his other side, turning away from the music. He. Won't. Sing. Tonight. He refuses to do it. The music stops abruptly, and the guitar is set down on the ground. Shuffling of boots on gravel and he opens his eyes a little, seeing Teller staring at him with a cold glare.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He hisses, alcohol on his breath. Adam grimaces, but chokes back the urge to gag.

"What do you think?" He hisses back, equal venom in his voice. He rarely uses his voice to do anything but sing, so speaking feels a little weird, but the weirdness vanishes and it's as if he's been doing it all day, every day again. It's fine.

"What I think is someone deserves another lashing for their disobedience. Now, when I pick up that guitar again, you better start singing." Teller says. Adam glares at him, before sitting up and staring down at the brunette. There's a sneer on his face, and he gathers the saliva in his mouth, before spitting it into Teller's eyes. The man howls, wiping at his eyes frantically as if a snake just spat at him.

"Filthy bitch!" Teller hisses, but he's cut off by another voice.

"Storyteller!" Adam's blood freezes in his bones. It can't be… "A word with you about your 'Fool'." Teller grumbles but shuffles to the front of the cage. Adam inhales slowly, first turning his head before shifting in the cage. The man on the other side is clad in a pair of dark skinny jeans, worn creepers and a black, military style jacket that hangs at his calves and buttons up to his neck. A neat, black and silver fedora graces the top of his head and covers his eyes. There's a peacock feather sticking from the brim. The man's nails are painted black.

"Yes, what can I do for you, good s—" Teller is cut off by the man pulling a blade and holding it to his neck, shoving him against the iron bars of the cage. He keeps his head down, pressing the blade into Teller's throat as he speaks in a low voice.

"Let him go." Teller chokes on a gasp. Adam frowns, pulling the cape tighter around him as the wind kicks up and blows through his hair. It can't be…

"I beg your pardon?" The man lifts his head, and Adam sees Thomas' face. He's grown up a little. His eyes are hard, the lids graced with thin liner and dark, smoky shadow. His lips are painted a dark red. The tips of his ears poke through the waves of blond and brown hair. He let it grow out? Adam peers closer, but stays in his spot. No… He can tell, though the evidence is hidden by his hat that his hair is folded on both sides to hide most of his ears. Whatever is left is tucked under the hat. But he must have wiggled them free to show them to Teller.

"Let. Him. Go." Thomas says with a snarl. Teller trembles against the iron, but Adam begins to hear him laugh.

"Boy… I was wondering when you'd return to me…" Thomas digs the tip into Teller's neck, and the man gasps.

"I'm not returning. I'm demanding you set him free." Thomas' voice is clipped and edgy, it sends chills down his spine. But Teller nods once, plucking the key from the chain at his pocket. Thomas nudges the blade into his neck again. "Use the real key, Teller." He hisses. Teller sighs, dropping the fake and retreating to the back of the cage. Thomas follows close behind, keeping the blade against his side the entire time. Teller pulls the rusty iron key from the hook at the top of the cage before crawling under and unlocking the trap. He crawls back out as Adam slips through, trembling.

When the Jewish male looks up from the underside of the cage, Teller has his back to Thomas' chest, the blade digging between his ribs. Teller's eyes are shut and his body falls. Adam watches, at first in horror at the sight of death before him. But he forgets that when Thomas pulls him to his feet, shoving clothes into his arms. "Quick put them on." He says. Adam nods, stripping the cape and pulling the t-shirt over his head, the jeans over the leather pants. Thomas even went so far as to bring him shoes. He can't suppress the smile that spread across his face as he laces them up, slipping the jacket over his shoulders. He catches a glint of the key, and grabs it. He doesn't know why— but he thinks for a moment. He's going to need it.

He takes a moment to look at Thomas. He reaches up, his fingers hooking around the brim of the fedora, and he pulls it off of the elf's head. True enough, the hair is split. He smoothes it back to the proper side, before palming Thomas' cheek. The elf's eyes are brimming with tears and his thin arms snake around Adam's body, and he buries his face into Adam's chest. The blue-eyed male dips his head down, breathing in the scent of strawberries from Thomas' hair. His favorite scent.

"I thought you were gone…" Adam whispers as Thomas' body shakes with sobs. Adam's arms tighten around the elf, and it feels as if this is the last time they'll ever have this moment. But then he looks down at the dead and bleeding body of Teller, and he knows that they have a lifetime together for hugs and kisses and so much more.

"I couldn't leave you… Not after all the trouble you went through for me…" Thomas says after he manages to calm down. Adam brushes the tears away from his eyes with his thumbs. "I couldn't leave you… I— I love you."

His heart feels like it's going to explode as he leans down, tasting lips he's wanted to taste for a year. He's sweet, like strawberries and cool like rain. He can get enough, but he has to stop, even for a moment. Just because Teller is dead doesn't mean they're safe. Thomas knows this just as much as Adam does, and they kiss again before walking hand in hand through the circus. No one pays them mind.

But Adam stops, going to Crystal's cage. He reaches out to her, and she takes his hand, smiling at him and Thomas. She remembers the elf. She laughs, tears spilling down her cheeks as she voices her happiness that they're free. He slips his hand into his pocket, before crawling under the wagon and unlocking her door. The laugh she laughs is beautiful, and she crawls out, hugging Adam and Thomas tightly, before strapping her guitar over her shoulder and racing off through the back woods just behind her cage. He doesn't know if he'll ever see her again, but he knows that she's going to find the life she's wanted.

The feeling of going unnoticed as they pass through the gates is more euphoric than they can imagine. But the warmth of Thomas' palm pressed into Adam's is even better. They walk down through the field— Thomas says he learned to drive, which is interesting and amazing in and of itself. When they get to the car, Adam can't resist another kiss to steal from the elf, and the blond pulls on his hair, pulling a moan from Adam's chest in the process. The elf giggles, pecking his lips again.

"Tommy." The prince whispers. Adam blinks, before smiling.

"Adam." He replies. The elf grins, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him again.


End file.
